


In the Gutter, Looking Up

by thatbug



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Mild Gore, mildly humorous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatbug/pseuds/thatbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is just a boy. Grantaire is a star.</p>
<p>Enjolras is young and naive, awkward but hopeful.</p>
<p>And Grantaire? He <i> shines. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Evening

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by Neil Gaiman's _Stardust,_ except it doesn't really follow it's plot in the slightest.
> 
> The title is kind of from Oscar Wilde, except not quite.
> 
> Also, as a warning, there is a slightly gory scene, in that there is blood and some mention of internal organs, which I would say is very mild, but if you are easily squicked, watch out.

Grantaire hated the earth. Before he had fallen, everything had been beautiful and soft and distant and impersonal. When he was still in the sky, the world was far enough away that he could close his eyes and all the suffering he couldn’t help or change would vanish. 

It was a funny thing—all he had done was trip. Trip and fall and plummet to earth, completely on accident, and then he wasn’t a star, he was a star’s heart trapped in a man’s body, unable to glow, unable to smile, every bit as unable to help as he had ever been, but now unable to close his eyes.

He mainly watched people die. That is to say, he watched people live, but really, all their lives were just slow marches towards the inevitable. Well, not always slow marches. Sometimes fast walks or short sprints or stumbles even quicker than his own, but they all got there in the end.

Grantaire took up drinking. 

~

He had been on earth for two hundred years when he first met Enjolras.

It was a shitty bar in a crappy town and Grantaire had spent the last few days drinking and Enjolras walked in, and for the first time in a long time, he wanted to _stop._

He didn’t know who the boy was at first, just that he was young, barely out of high school, beautiful in his coltish awkwardness, all blond hair and long limbs, lost in the pulsing lights and the gyrating bodies. 

But Enjolras’s eyes found Grantaire, and he didn’t look lost anymore. He strode purposefully towards Grantaire, caught himself, rubbed the back of his neck, looked in another direction, and then wandered away, sneaking glances back at Grantaire.

Grantaire waited, and sure enough, Enjolras slid up to him five minutes later. “Hey,” he said. “My name is Enjolras.” He smiled shyly, and Grantaire smirked back. 

“Grantaire,” he replied. He gestured to the spot next to him. “Sit down.” Enjolras looked reassured, and his smile brightened. It was adorable. Up close, Grantaire could see how his bottom from teeth were slightly crooked and his nose had a tiny bump. 

“So,” Enjolras said, still smiling, “I’m going to level with you, I thought you’d shut me down, so I didn’t really plan out what I was going to say next.” He paused, looking sheepish. “Uh, you’re really hot.”

Grantaire was aware he was beautiful. He was a star after all. His skin glowed with a sort of light that was easily mistaken for health; his eyes were always bright, even in the darkened room; his black silk hair tumbled down over his forehead and curled around his ears; his features were strong and balanced. He was used to being stared at, most stars were. But there was something about this unabashed awe that Enjolras looked at him with that made him grin instead of roll his eyes.

“I’ve been told that before,” Grantaire said. 

“Oh,” Enjolras said, his face falling slightly.

“Now, don’t take it so hard,” he said, “I’m sure you have much more to offer than that. This is your first time here?”

Enjolras nodded. “I came from a small town. There wasn’t a lot to do there, and uh…people weren’t really okay with me being gay. I mean, I didn’t get bullied, but I didn’t get laid either. Not that I would have anyway. I’m kind of a nerd.” He looked a little sheepish. “Sorry about that. I just—I mean, I just got to school, and I’m tired of being nobody and doing nothing. The world has so many people and so many problems, and I want to meet everyone and fix everything, and I know I can’t do it, but so help me, I’ll try.”

He looked like a tiny kitten trying to be a lion. He looked certain and determined and defiant and he sounded ridiculous in his convictions. Grantaire just raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? You’re going to change the world?”

Enjolras bit his lip, like the only thing that would stop the ‘yes’ from flying from his lips was the fact that Grantaire would mock him for it. “I’m going to,” he said, “I’m going to school for economics and politic science so I can try to find solutions to help fix the inequality inherent in our current system, and I want to raise awareness about classism and how it’s self perpetuating, and obviously the government is deeply screwed up, but I don’t think it’s past the point of no return. And obviously, I want to raise awareness about racism and sexism and homophobia and how just because it’s not blatant, although sometimes it is, doesn’t mean it’s not there, but I feel like I could best serve people by—”

Grantaire cut him off with a kiss, because he didn’t want to hear another hopeful, carefully thought out, ridiculously earnest word. He’d known people like Enjolras before, and they always wound up defeated, bitter, or dead.

He wanted to take Enjolras home and kiss him more and watch him gasp and moan and writhe with pleasure, and then he wanted to leave and never see Enjolras again, because then he could pretend that everything would be okay.

Enjolras pulled back with a gasp. “That was—” he paused. “Most people run away when I start ranting.”

“It’s cute,” Grantaire said. “You’re cute. Now, do you want to come back to my place?”

“I—I don’t know how far I want to go,” Enjolras said, biting his lip, “I haven’t really done much before. So—”

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras smiled and extended his hand. Grantaire took it, pressing a kiss to his knuckles with a smirk, before clasping his hand to Enjolras’s slightly sweaty palm. 

~

When they were finished, Enjolras looked adorably confused as he lay, panting gently, across Grantaire’s chest. “That was nice,” he said, his brow furrowed. 

Grantaire had to agree. They had kissed for what felt like hours, Grantaire had sucked Enjolras’s dick, and Enjolras had given him a ridiculously clumsy hand job that wound up being more like Grantaire fucking Enjolras’s hand while Enjolras sloppily kissed him. 

Grantaire had had to stop Enjolras from licking his come off his hands. Just because Grantaire knew he didn’t have any diseases was no reason to give Enjolras any bad habits or a completely incorrect idea of what human semen was supposed to taste like. 

He brought Enjolras a wet washcloth from the bathroom, and handed him his clothes. “If you leave now, it won’t count as a walk of shame,” he told him, and Enjolras looked slightly hurt at being kicked out, but he took the clothes with a small smile and awkwardly redressed himself.

“Uh, thanks for that,” he said finally, and shuffled out the door.

~

Grantaire hoped that would be the last of it, but a week later, as he was sitting on a park bench, watching pigeons flutter around, he heard hurried footsteps, and then a familiar blonde boy plopped himself onto the bench next to him, looking slightly breathless.

“Hello,” Enjolras said, “I swear, I’m not stalking you, not that you should worry about that, I clearly couldn’t hurt you. But I saw you and I just wanted to say—fuck, I’m sorry, I swear I’m better with words normally—I know this isn’t normal one night stand protocol, but I really, really had a good time, and if you want to do it again, well, I do too.”

Grantaire had never had anyone run across a park just to ask him to sleep with them. And he had promised himself that he would stay away from Enjolras, because he couldn’t bear to watch Enjolras fail.

But Enjolras was looking at him so hopefully, but also worried, because Grantaire was supposed to say something and—“I’m free now,” he blurted, “Afternoon quickie?” 

Enjolras looked thrilled and apprehensive. “I haven’t eaten lunch yet—” he caught himself. “Lunch can wait. Let’s go.”

Enjolras was a thin as a rail. “We can get lunch first,” Grantaire said, and took him to Dairy Queen.

Grantaire watched as Enjolras ate his french fries, scarfing them down as quickly as possible. It was entirely likely by the way he inhaled his food that he hadn’t eaten breakfast either. 

When Enjolras finished his meal, Grantaire walked him back to his dingy apartment and tugged him into his lap, watching eyes close and his mouth slacken as he ground their hips together. 

Enjolras came in his pants, so Grantaire gave him a pair of sweats and boxers. Enjolras just smiled and promised to return them, and Grantaire was fucked, wasn’t he?


	2. Night

They weren’t dating.

The weren’t dating, because Enjolras was just starting college and his life and Grantaire had never been alive, not in a normal human way, and the last time Grantaire had felt even half as fond as a person as he was of Enjolras he had wound up cradling her in his arms and kissing her forehead as she cried and shook and coughed up blood, and she had always been so brave, but she was terrified then, and Grantaire could do nothing but pet her hair and promise it would stop hurting soon.

And the last time he had seen any human so convinced that the world could be changed, she was a plain young girl with a stutter and a bright heart and words that flowed as elegantly from her hand as they stumbled from her mouth, and she had married a plain and bland man and his dullness had seeped into her and she stopped _caring_ and that hurt.

And the last time he wanted so badly for human to live a long and happy life, the boy had wound up dying at seventeen from a bullet to the brain, and Grantaire had watched the defiant smile slide off his face and his eyes dull, because there was nothing to light them.

So they weren’t dating, but they did fuck, and they did talk and Grantaire did tell Enjolras that he was wrong, so terribly wrong, and Enjolras did tell Grantaire that he was hopeless and cynical, and Grantaire pretended that it was because he was a stupid, lost twenty-something year old, not a disillusioned celestial body. 

Grantaire worked now, at odd jobs and selling paintings, and sometimes picking pockets when he could, because there was no harm in lifting a bit of cash from the descendants of the same rich bastards who’d built their fortunes on the backs of the people he’d loved.

He couldn’t not work, now that Enjolras was there. Before, if he had no food and no home, he’d just stop eating and stop sleeping until he could save enough up. But now, Enjolras was there and _worrying_ and Grantaire had to keep up appearances or he’d get a lecture.

Besides, he couldn’t have Enjolras picking up his bad habits. 

~

Enjolras moved in with Grantaire, his third year at school. He had grown into himself more, he was less likely to trip over his own feet barreling up the stairs in excitement, and his face had become more narrow, his jaw more defined, his cheekbones sharp. He had lost some of the puppyish innocence that he had first had when Grantaire met him, and replaced it with even more firm determination.

“People don’t listen to me,” Enjolras said peevishly. “And it’s not just me. They don’t listen to anything. They think they’re too cool to care. They think being passionate is stupid. It’s not stupid.”

_But it will get you hurt,_ Grantaire thought, and instead ruffled Enjolras’s hair. “Maybe they just think it’s hopeless. Feeling a lot never gets you anywhere.”

Enjolras scowled at him. “Neither did doing nothing.” He would have continued, Grantaire knew, but it was an old argument, and he had heard all Enjolras had to say about the subject. So, he supposed, had everyone else. There was a reason that Enjolras didn’t have many friends.

Finally, Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s waist and rested his head against his shoulder. “I’m getting tired,” he finally whispered. “I don’t want to give up. I’m not going to give up. But I can’t do this alone, and I can’t get anyone to do this with me.”

This was new. God knows, what Enjolras did would exhaust anyone, but he had never once slowed, and now he was clutching Grantaire, not moving, not talking anymore, just holding him close. Finally, Enjolras pulled back with a shuttering breath. 

Grantaire rarely comforted Enjolras. Grantaire provided him with companionship when he had driven everyone else off; with sex, because even little revolutionaries get horny; with dinner, when Enjolras was up late working and Grantaire force-fed him Hamburger Helper and whatever else he could scrounge; and with rent money, for when his jobs couldn’t quite cover it.

“They’ll listen eventually,” Grantaire said, lying through his teeth. He didn’t know that.

“People don’t want to listen to people like me,” Enjolras said, “People want to listen to people like you.”

“That’s because I appeal to human’s natural belief that everything is terrible and nothing will help.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Enjolras said, smiling softly, and touching Grantaire’s face. “I mean you’re captivating. Gorgeous. You know, sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night, and I can swear you’re glowing.”

“Watching me sleep?” Grantaire asked lightly. He hadn’t known he’d been shining, hadn’t even known he still could shine. He would have to concentrate harder. 

“I can’t help it sometimes,” Enjolras whispered, and Grantaire laughed. “That might go to my head.”

“I know that—whatever we have—I mean—“ Enjolras stopped. “I live with you. I sleep in your bed. I’ve been fucking you for the last three years, and I still can’t convince you that we should be boyfriends.”

Grantaire had, perhaps callously, insisted that they not use the term. He had had people he loved, and people he fucked, and sometimes they overlapped, but never for as long as they had with Enjolras, and some days, he still wanted to leave Enjolras and never come back, not stay and watch him fall.

“I don’t want to—” 

“—Tie me down, I know.” Enjolras said. “But seeing as we both know that it means you want a guilt free out for when I’m too old and tired to be cute enough for you.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said flatly, “You need sleep. I have no plans to leave you.” It’s a lie, Grantaire has a suitcase packed with a spare set of clothes, a spare I.D., some cash, and a picture of Enjolras smiling, but if Enjolras needed him to lie, he’ll lie. 

Enjolras was about to protest, but Grantaire put his finger to his lips. “Go get in bed. Don’t bother with pajama pants.”

“Yes sir,” Enjolras said, lightly. He pressed a kiss to Grantaire’s lips and scampered off. 

~

Grantaire was balls deep in Enjolras when Enjolras stopped his breathy moans and grabbed Grantaire’s arm.

“You,” he said.

Grantaire slowed. “Yes?”

“You. I can’t attract people’s attention, but you can. So you could catch people’s eye, and maybe if they’d come and listen I could change their minds.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, his voice slightly tight, “I’m not going to demand your complete focus or anything, but I do appreciate when you pretend to give it to me.”

“Oops,” Enjolras said, not sounding sorry. He rolled his hips. “Back to it?”

A few thrusts later, and Grantaire could already see Enjolras attention fading; see the gears in his brain turning. He sighed and pulled out, flopping next to him and pulling off the condom, tossing it towards the trash bin. “Don’t let me distract you.”

Enjolras turned towards him. “Sorry,” he said, slightly more repentant than before. “I was just thinking about how awesome you are, and my mind started to wander.” He nuzzled Grantaire’s shoulder, and looked up at him guiltily through his lashes.

“Nice of you,” Grantaire said. “Let’s just sleep.”

“Now I feel bad,” Enjolras said, pursing his lips. “Can I jerk you off at least?”

Grantaire sighed as Enjolras wrapped a hand around his cock, but he didn’t bat him away. “I’ll do it,” he said, finally. “But if it doesn’t work, you’ll drop it?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said immediately, “Yes, yes, yes. Thank you. He crawled on top of Grantaire and kissed him deeply. “I swear I will make it worth it for you.”

Grantaire bucked his hips slightly. “Start now?”

Enjolras immediately shimmed back across the bed and eagerly licked along Grantaire’s dick, which was far nicer than he had to be, considering Enjolras did not enjoy giving blowjobs at all.

Smiling, he tangled a hand in Enjolras’s curls, and let his head fall back against the pillows. 

~

It was only Combeferre who stayed, after Grantaire somehow drummed up a crowd and Enjolras spoke. 

When they got back home, Enjolras was glowing. “He listened,” he said, wonderingly. “He listened, and he agrees, and he wants to meet for coffee.”

“He probably just wants to bang you,” Grantaire said, but he couldn’t help but smile at the light in Enjolras’s eyes.

“If I was half as magnetic as you, we’d have a good shot at this,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire didn’t believe him, but he wanted to.


	3. The New Day

The heart of a star is a powerful thing, and after hearing Enjolras talk, Grantaire was almost convinced he had one. He didn’t look like an awkward young man with no friends and an impossible dream; he looked like a warrior, a god. Like he could change the world every bit as much as he said.

There was only so much Grantaire could do. He had none of Enjolras’s conviction, his confidence, his blind faith. He just had the heart of a star, and it wasn’t doing him any good. 

Enjolras would use it. Enjolras would burn and glow and lead the world into light, if only he had it. And he would leave Grantaire behind in the darkness, but it would be okay, it would be more than okay, it would be perfect. Enjolras safe and happy and not ruined, like everyone else Grantaire loved, and he wouldn’t even have to run away, he could just watch as Enjolras became everything he was meant to be, and for once, Grantaire would not have to be the one who did the leaving.

So he fucked Enjolras in the morning and sent him on his way with a passionate kiss, because last days should be wonderful, and he texted Enjolras that he would make dinner, and he went to the kitchen and grabbed the knives.

It probably wasn’t sanitary, but the biggest mirror in the apartment was in the bedroom, and he would need to see well.

He grabbed a kitchen knife and a bowl, sat in front of the mirror, and realized that it was happening: he was giving up his light for Enjolras. And it was so obviously what he was supposed to do, should have done ages ago, if he had only just thought. But still, before the day was out, he wouldn’t have his heart or his light or Enjolras, for that matter.

If he were going to do this, he’d do it properly.

He got another few knives, in case he blunted the first; and a large fork, in case he needed to pin his flesh back. He found a needle and thread to sew himself back up, and he laid down some trash bags to catch the blood. He wasn’t sure if there’d be a lot, but he hated scrubbing, so it was best to cover his bases.

He moved the large lamp from the living area into the bedroom and then sat on a stool and stared at himself, and tried not to panic.

It was easier than he thought it would be to slice through his chest. It stung slightly and bled profusely, and for a while, he just sat and waited until the flow of bright red liquid slowed and he could continue to peel back his skin and flesh.

He hadn’t considered his ribs, but they were fairly easy to crack, almost horrifyingly so. Once that had happened, it was all too easy to cut the veins and arteries that tied the pulsing organ to him and place it in the bowl, where it sat, glistening wetly, not beating.

The first thing Grantaire noticed was the silence. There was no steady thrum of blood through his veins, just an overwhelming absence of anything, and a strange lightness in his chest.

Fitting his ribs back in was not as easy a task as removing them had been, but they had broken cleanly, so once he lined up the pieces, they slid together easily and stayed put as he laid the flaps of skin and flesh back over the bones and carefully stitched himself back up. 

He gathered up the bloody mess he had left and buried it in the trash bin in the kitchen, including the pants he had for some reason left on. 

It was only when he was in the shower, looking down at the starburst shaped scar on his chest that was already healing when he realized his blood was flowing again. It wasn’t a heartbeat, not quite. He could still feel the empty cavity in his chest, but there was a familiar thumping through his veins.

It made sense, he supposed. He wasn’t dead, after all, just heartless.

When he stepped out of the shower it was two o’clock, and he realized he hadn’t thought of a way to make Enjolras eat his heart. He had imagined just sticking it in the oven or something, but there was no way he could get him to eat something so clearly heart-shaped without a little explanation. 

He glared at his heart, sitting innocently in a bowl, not beating, but looking exactly what you’d expect from a heart inexpertly cut out of a body.

Briefly, Grantaire considered just chopping it up and using Hamburger Helper, but that seemed…disrespectful. He could try and make meatloaf, but Enjolras never more than picked at that, and he needed to make sure Enjolras ate the whole thing. 

In the end, he found some recipe online for beef potpies, which looked simple enough. He cut the heart up into pieces that looked less like an organ and more like something that someone would actually consume, and he wound up finishing the last of Enjolras’s potatoes, but he wound up with something that looked fairly decent and smelled edible, so he considered it a success.

And then he packed his bags. He already had a suitcase ready with the bare necessities, but he added a few more pairs of pants and his favorite shirt. He was half-tempted to steal some of Enjolras’s clothes, but he decided against it, instead taking his mostly-full bottle of shampoo. He slipped a few pictures into a pocket, emptied out his cash drawer into his wallet, grabbed his toothbrush, and stuffed it all in the bag.

He looked around their apartment and found nothing else of worth, so he sat in the kitchen to wait for Enjolras.

Enjolras came in at eight o’clock, pulling off his scarf and smiling absently at Grantaire, obviously troubled but not bothering to say why. He rarely did.

“I made you potpie,” Grantaire said, “Thought it’d be a nice surprise. I already ate, though.”

He had prepared excuses to force Enjolras to eat it if it turned out tasting like shit, but Enjolras took one bite and his eyes lit up. “This is amazing,” he said, scarfing it down as fast as he could manage, scraping out the bowl when he was finished.

“I feel—I fell so good,” he said, staring around wonderingly, and Grantaire understood, because ever since he took his heart out, everything he saw looked duller. Enjolras’s eyes fell on Grantaire. “Are you okay?”

He had seen himself in the mirror as he cut out his heart. The way his face became more hollow, his skin sallow, his eyes losing their sheen and his hair becoming dull. “I’m fine,” he said with a smile, and Enjolras looked unconvinced.

Enjolras was the only thing that had not dulled. He had been good looking before, but his skin glowed now; his hair appeared to be woven from sunlight, his eyes looked passionate, his stance looked powerful. He looked like a walking metaphor for something great, a ridiculous poem in human form. Grantaire couldn’t put a finger on any one thing that had changed, but somehow, he found himself looking at a new man.

He wanted to throw himself at Enjolras’s feet. He wanted to beg for a chance to lick his boots. He wanted to run, before he disgusted the god before him.

He wondered if this was how he made Enjolras feel, but he doubted it. Grantaire had never been particularly good at being a star; Enjolras was made to shine. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, “I can tell something’s wrong. Talk to me.”

“Nothing is wrong,” he insisted. “I’m just tired. Making the damn pie was a lot of work.”

All of this was true.

Enjolras reached out to cup his face. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to do that for me.” He smiled again. “Let me make it up to you?” He ran his hand down Grantaire’s chest, uncomfortably close to the new scar.

Grantaire jumped away. “No, Enjolras. Don’t.” He started towards the bedroom, where he’d left the suitcase. Enjolras followed him, saying nothing until he saw the suitcase on the floor.

“Are you—Grantaire—what is that?” he asked, sounding uncertain. “Grantaire. What are you doing?”

Grantaire picked up the bag, ignoring the pain in Enjolras’s voice. “I think it’s best if I go,” he said, and Enjolras might disagree now, but he’d forget about Grantaire the instant he realized that he had what he wanted.

“No!” Enjolras said, the outraged glower on his face almost ridiculous. “No, Grantaire, you are not fucking breaking up with me. Is this because I was complaining about you not wanting to be my boyfriend? I don’t care. You can’t just leave me, not for that.”

Grantaire hadn’t anticipated this. He’d assumed that once he’d lost his heart, Enjolras would see how repulsive and useless he actually was, and would welcome Grantaire’s absence. Unfortunately, this did not appear to be the case.

“This has nothing to do with the boyfriend thing,” Grantaire said, because he wasn’t sure how to explain it without telling the truth, and he didn’t really want to do that.

Enjolras looked furious. “So, what was it? Am I getting old, or something? Boring?”

“No—”

“Grantaire, you…we fucked and you kissed me and you made me a nice dinner and you didn’t have to, and that is a crappy fucking way to break up with someone.”

“Enjolras. That wasn’t what it’s about.”

“Isn’t it? Because you’ve been so nice lately, and almost like you want a proper relationship, and I thought—” His eyes were starting to water, only he didn’t look red and blotchy like he normally did when he cried, he looked tragic and lovely and desperate and furious. “I thought you wanted to make things _real,”_ he finished, almost in a whisper.

Grantaire wanted to hug him, but he also wanted to leave before Enjolras got more emotional and made him feel even guiltier. “Enjolras, I wouldn’t just leave you without any reason.”

“Then why are you doing this?” Enjolras demanded.

“I’m—” Grantaire started. He wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “Look at me, Enjolras. I look different, don’t I?”

“You’re always gorgeous,” Enjolras said immediately. “That’s not the problem. Is it the problem? I don’t just like you for your looks, Grantaire, you have to know that.”

“Look at me,” Grantaire repeated flatly.

He could see the moment when Enjolras _got_ it, when his bright eyes lit up with horrified understanding. “You aren’t—you do look different.” He reached a hand towards Grantaire’s face, and then pulled it away. “Is it drugs? Are you on drugs? How did I miss that? You know I’ll support you if you need help.”

“It’s not that,” Grantaire said, sighing. “Look, Enjolras, about the pie—”

Enjolras’s face shifted from concerned to alarmed adorably fast. “Did you put something in it? Did you drug me?”

“I didn’t put any drugs in it,” Grantaire said carefully.

“You are freaking me out,” Enjolras said. “Just—tell me what’s happening, and what you did to me, and why you’re deciding to just leave now.”

There really was no point in beating around the bush. “I’m a star, I fell, I’ve been here for two hundred years, and I just cut my heart out and fed it to you,” Grantaire said, and suddenly remembered that the point of beating around the bush was to prevent Enjolras from being traumatized.

Enjolras’s mouth snapped shut, so Grantaire barreled onward. “You won’t need to eat or sleep, technically, and you probably will live a lot longer than you would have otherwise. And people will listen to you. That’s why I did it. Because people will listen, and because you need to be heard.”

Enjolras was staring, looking horrified and betrayed and so many things. Slowly, his hand crept up to his heart, and Grantaire could tell that, despite the fact that it made no sense, Enjolras knew it was true.

Grantaire tugged his own shirt up, revealing the scar and the tiny black stitches he still had to pull out. “I’m sorry,” he said, finally.

He picked up his bag and walked out of the apartment. Enjolras didn’t try to stop him.

~

A few days later, Grantaire was sitting on a park bench. The world looked grey and empty as he watched birds, feeling alone, his suitcase by his side. He was about to leave when he heard footsteps, and saw Enjolras running towards him.

“Hello,” Enjolras said, “I swear, I’m not stalking you, not that that would be a problem. Except maybe now it would be. Fuck. This was supposed to sound a lot more smooth.”

“What are you doing?” Grantaire asked.

“Hoping that a recreation of the time I chased you down to beg you to sleep with me would remind you of better days and give me a nice opening to ask what you were thinking.”

“I told you,” Grantaire said, “People should listen to you. And now they will.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, “I’ve been noticing. I ran into Combeferre and I had to tell him that I switched face wash and tried some new shampoo, but I don’t think he believed me. But what I’m wondering is why you decided to literally give me your heart when you won’t even figuratively do it.”

“Enjolras, before you came, I used the fact that I am—was—a star to get laid occasionally and drink too much. I didn’t do anything. I just watched people die and give up, and it was terrible and awful. And after I met you, I still drank a lot, and I had sex with you more than occasionally, and I waited for you to give up or die. And then you started talking about all you could do if you could draw people in like I do, and all the good you could do, and now you can do it. I was wasting my heart, you won’t. That’s why I did it. Because, believe it or not, I would like to see things get better, and if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Enjolras was silent. He took Grantaire’s hands in his own. They were warm and dry, unlike the clammy, cold ones he used to have. His eyes were bright as he stared at Grantaire, saying nothing. Grantaire stared back. Finally, Enjolras brought his hands up and kissed his knuckles. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Please come home.”

“Why?” Grantaire asked.

“Because I want to make this up to you,” Enjolras said, “Because, Grantaire, if this works—even if it doesn’t—you gave up everything for me. Because I love you. And because you still haven’t explained why you left.”

“I’d assumed that you’d want me to,” Grantaire said, but he tightened his hold on Enjolras’s hands. 

“Why would I want that?” Enjolras asked. “We both know I’m the clingy pathetic one.”

Grantaire laughed.

“No, I’m serious!” Enjolras protested. “I have practically no friends. I go to class and I do my work, and then I come home to you, and every day I had to worry that this would be the day you pulled the ‘we aren’t dating so get out’ card, and then I’d be alone, but you never did, you were always there, and I can’t just give that up. I can’t give you up, not now.”

“You’ll get more friends. You won’t be alone.”

“If they only like me now, they shouldn’t be my friends,” Enjolras pointed out.

“No, friends like Combeferre, people who didn’t notice you before but would have agreed. There are people out there. You’ll find them.”

“For fucks sake, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, “Would you stop trying to send me away? Can you not just appreciate that I love you, and I want you to be my boyfriend for real, and that nothing is going to change that?”

“If I started murdering orphaned kittens with a machete—” Grantaire began, but cut himself off at Enjolras’s glare. “Point taken.”

“So,” Enjolras said, “I propose that you let me call you my boyfriend; and that you stay with me for as long as you want to, which I might add, I hope is a while; and that you know that I am infinitely grateful to you, and that I adore you stupidly, even though your face is less glowing than normal, which again, could not matter less to me. I also propose that we go home together and I suck your dick.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Grantaire said, but he stood up, extending a hand towards the beautiful perfect man who was no longer a silly puppy of a boy, but was, for some absurd reason, staring at him with the same adoration he always did.

“Well, you didn’t need to cut your heart out and sneak it into my food,” Enjolras said. “Fuck, I could be on laundry duty for the next sixty years and not make it up to you.”

“I’m not going to use it as a bargaining chip, it was my idea,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras kissed him.

~

They didn’t stop kissing until they were back in their bed and Enjolras was pushing Grantaire down and smiling as he pulled down his pants and lowered his mouth, and Grantaire forgot everything for a while.

He remembered that human semen did not taste like his did only after he came in Enjolras’s mouth and Enjolras immediately spat it out onto the sheet and started coughing. 

He tried not to laugh at Enjolras’s face, but it didn’t work. “I guess there are some other changes besides the heart thing,” he said, snickering.

Enjolras glared at him, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “You could have warned me.”

“I forgot you didn’t know what normal come tastes like,” Grantaire said, kissing Enjolras. His mouth did taste slightly bitterer than it usually did. 

“Well, it’s not like I ever slept with anyone else,” Enjolras said peevishly. “You normally taste like molasses or something but now…”

“I have just received the last blowjob of my life?”

“No,” Enjolras said, still looking slightly disgusted, “I’m sure I can get used to it. Just don’t expect me to swallow. Hey, how do you feel about condoms?”

Grantaire laughed and pulled Enjolras into his arms. “Whatever makes you happy. Even if that means no more getting my dick sucked.”

Enjolras burrowed closer into his embrace, nuzzling his chest. “You’re here, you gave me a chance, you love me.” He paused. “You do love me, right?”

“Yes,” Grantaire said, “Yes, I do.” 

“Good,” Enjolras said, smiling. “Also, considering the fact I just murdered the mood with a sledgehammer, I’m not sure I can ask for this in good conscience, but…” he trailed off, rolling his hip against Grantaire’s leg.

Enjolras glowed when he came.

~

The room was bathed in warm light when Grantaire woke up, which made sense until he saw that the curtains were closed and the clock was flashing four thirty in the morning. 

Enjolras was lying next to him, shining brightly. His eyes were closed, and his face was peaceful, his eyelashes practically brushing his cheek, his golden hair spilling across the pillow like a river. 

Grantaire pressed his rough lips Enjolras’s smooth cheek, and for once in his life, he didn’t want to run.  



End file.
